


Relic of the Past

by The_Epitome_of_Pretense



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Awkward Tension, Bretons (Elder Scrolls), Dunmer (Elder Scrolls), F/M, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Quests, Sibling Bonding, Strangers to Lovers, Vampires, Winterhold (Elder Scrolls), the college of winterhold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27351043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Epitome_of_Pretense/pseuds/The_Epitome_of_Pretense
Summary: Despite being the Dovahkiin's younger brother, Relic Norvayn-Indarys has no interest in going on quests. But when his parents insist that he visit his sister in Winterhold, he finds himself in the midst of a quest he never asked for--as well as a budding friendship with a mysterious scholar that might become something more.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 14
Kudos: 7





	1. Unbroken Road

Relic had never seen so dull a place. From the snow-covered ground to the overcast sky to the faded timbers of the buildings, everything seemed to be made from the same gray material. Even the horse that pulled the cart he sat in was a dappled gray. Relic grimaced at it all.

He missed Solstheim.

The driver brought them to a halt on the edge of town.

"Here we are. Winterhold," he said. "You know, when I was a boy, this place was just a handful of shacks."

Relic tried to picture the town looking worse than it already did, but failed. He could not imagine anything more drab.

“It really has come up in the years," the driver went on. "Did you know the Archmage of the college is Dovahkiin? Just think of that, having the Dragonborn way out here, of all places."

"That is remarkable."

Relic supposed it must be the most remarkable thing about the town, but he kept that to himself. The college lay on the opposite side of the city, gray like everything else. He thanked the driver and started down the wide road that led through the center of everything.

The wind from the ocean gusted between the buildings, stinging the tips of his ears and whipping his cloak about him. He took one of the long ends and wrapped it tighter around his shoulders. The cloak was old and frayed in some places, but his boots were new. They were a Nordic style, thick with layers of fur and leather cords. His father insisted that he wear them. Relic hated how they hid his ankles—they made his legs look like tree trunks, in his opinion—but he had to admit, they kept out the cold better than the shoes he wore at home. The crunch of snow hid how they squeaked.

In spite of the frigid weather, the streets were noisy with people. Market stalls crowded the central road, almost negating its width. As Relic went on, he found that Winterhold lacked a central marketplace—the long line of stalls served the purpose instead. He eyed the stacks of meat pies and fresh loaves of bread, still steaming from the oven, but kept walking. His sister was sure to have something good to eat at the college. He looked forward to getting out of the cold, too.

The city grew sparse the closer he got. When he made it to the college’s front gate, he saw why: a cliff at the edge of town plummeted down hundreds of feet to the black, rocky shore. The college sat on a precarious outcropping of gray stone, with nothing more than a slender, winding bridge connecting it to solid land. His sister told him about it’s situation years ago, but he had not believed her.

A guard stopped him at the gate.

"Halt," she said. "What business do you have with the college?"

"None that I want," he chuckled.

If the guard smiled, Relic could not see it behind her helmet. He got the impression that she was scowling.

"Um. I'm here to see the Archmage," he said.

"Are you a student? I'll have to fetch one of the scholars for an entry test."

"No, I'm family. Archmage Martia is my sister. Didn't she tell anyone that I was coming?"

"Oh. Yes, she did mention a brother. I just expected someone more—well. Like herself,” She made a wide gesture at the shoulders.

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

The guard opened the gate without another word. Relic began picking his way across the bridge, grateful for the wooden handrails that had been cobbled onto the sides. The college's three towers rose up, high and imposing. The sun was beginning to set beyond, its rays peeking through a gap in the clouds; he paused a moment to take in the yellow glow reflecting on the waves below. It was the first bit of color he had seen all day. Then another gust of wind threatened to knock him off balance, and he hurried the rest of the way across the bridge.

The grand iron gate opened on its own as he approached, its Eye of Magnus design splitting down the middle. Inside there was a courtyard with a statue of a wizard casting a spell. His robes billowed out behind him, and before him was a well, glowing blue with a beam of magicka that stretched up into the clouds. A crowd of students gathered around the well. An elderly Khajiit with silver fur and grizzled, drooping whiskers spoke to them.

"It is an easy trap, the idea that destruction magic is best accomplished in a rage," he said. "This is false. Without self-control, a spell has no direction. Sometimes it even backfires. In his younger days, this one was impulsive, which often resulted in singed whiskers. And damaged pride, but restoration spells are of little use there."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Relic approached; a scholar was sure to know where to find his sister. He intended to wait for a pause in the lesson, but the Khajiit immediately narrowed his slitted eyes at him.

"Ah, dark one, perfect. Please, demonstrate for the class how fire magic is done."

The crowd stared. He fidgeted with his knapsack strap.

"Erm—I'm just looking for the Archmage."

"You are Dunmer, yes?"

"Yes, but I'm really more of an alchemist than a fire—uh," he made a broad gesture, "fire-fellow. Mage. Fire-mage."

The class stared at him. He wished he had the components for an invisibility potion.

“Not that I can’t do it,” he added. “I can. I just—well.”

He raised a hand and summoned what he hoped would be a respectable flame. It flared up above his palm for an instant, then gave a loud _pop_ and fizzled out. His ears no longer felt cold; now they burned with embarrassment. The Khajiit raised his long, whisker-like brows.

"Now it becomes clear," he said. "You are the long-awaited little brother. She told me about you."

If his ineptitude was what gave away his identity, Relic wondered what sort of stories his sister had told about him.

"Yes, that's me," he admitted. "Can you tell me where Martia is?"

"She is likely in the Archmage's quarters at the top of the tower. Go inside and make a left. Perhaps someday J'Zargo will have those chambers. Who can say."

He shrugged and turned back to the class. Relic took that to mean he was done talking. He made his way through the main door into the tallest of the towers.

Once inside, he was struck yet again by how insufferably dull everything was. And cold. There were no fireplaces, no frescoes, no indoor gardens, barely any tapestries—just plain gray stone wherever he looked. A circular auditorium lay beyond the foyer. Blue light from the magicka well at its center filled the room, providing the only bit of color. Relic grumbled at the sight, then followed the Khajiit's instructions.

Just a little more time, he told himself. All he had to do was inform Martia that he didn't belong here. Then she could send word to their parents, convince them that he should return home immediately, and he could finally get back to Solstheim. They would listen to her. He already missed his own bed. And his bookshelf. And his alchemy tools. And his prized miniature potted scathecraw, and Ayem, his pet Dwemer construct, and even the smell of ash that came on the east wind. His mother assured him that the college would have books and alchemical supplies, but they could never compare. Nothing in Skyrim could. 

He knocked on the arched door at the stairs' summit. Silence. He knocked again.

"Come back during office hours," a voice yelled.

"I'll tell Mother if you don't let me in," he yelled back.

There came a clank of silverware, then the squeal of a chair being pushed back. The door swung open. His sister stood on the other side, dressed in ornate robes, the layers of which barely hid her strong stature. Her sharp features, curly hair, and aquiline nose almost made her look Imperial. She broke into a grin.

"You're early," she said.

"I can leave if you want."

"Get in here, you little scrib!"

She yanked him into the room and pulled him into a hug. He couldn’t help but laugh. He returned the gesture, squeezing her so tight that he lifted her off the ground.

"Careful, you'll snap in two trying to pick me up," she chuckled.

"But it's been years since I've gotten to do that."

"By Azura, has it been so long?"

"Five at least."

"Eh, that's not so bad then. Come on, I just sat down to dinner."

She led him to a small table on one side of the chamber. He couldn't call it a corner; the room was circular, like all the others. Instead of a magicka well at its center, this one had a garden, complete with a juniper tree and snowberry bushes and all sorts of flowers that gave a splash genuine orange and red. After a week on the road, it was a welcome sight. On the far side was an enchanting table and an alchemy station, shelves of books and cabinets of ingredients, and a weapons rack stocked with various staffs. A stone wall beyond the garden concealed what he assumed to be the sleeping area.

He settled into the chair opposite Martia.

"Now, tell me everything you've been up to—" she gave him a perplexed look. "Wait. Is your hair in a braid?"

"Ugh, yes," he admitted.

"You tied up your 'glorious mane?' I never thought I'd see the day."

"Neither did I, but the winds here are terrible. I've been bested."

He took away the bit of twine that bound his hair and ran his fingers through its length, then tossed it behind his back with a sigh of relief. Keeping it over his shoulder for so long had given him a neck-ache. He shook his head, glad that there were no wind gusts in the chamber to bother him.

Martia filled him a bowl from the small cauldron that sat on a stand beside the table. It was simple fare, just a pottage of peas and meat and mushrooms, but it was rich and hot and as good as a feast to his empty stomach.

“I didn’t know you had wild boar all the way out here,” he commented.

“We don’t.”

“This isn’t pork?”

“It’s horker.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll get used to the blubbery parts. I guess you’ll have to, since you’ll be here a while.”

“Right.” he set down his spoon. “About that.”

She glanced at him over a bite of mushroom.

“What about that?” She said.

“Me. Staying here. I’d rather not, is the thing.”

“But you just arrived. Why would you want to leave?”

“The real question is why I would ever want to leave _home_. It’s where my books are. I don’t like being away.”

“But Mother said you were excited to visit.”

“To visit, yes. But I never wanted to stay so long.”

“It’s just a year. That’s nothing.”

“To you, maybe.”

“Why did you come all this way if you planned to go right back?”

“Because nobody listens to me. Mother says I should be grateful that I have the means to travel, and Father always goes on and on about how it builds character, how he and Mother never would have met if it weren’t for their mutual wanderlust. From the way they talk, you’d think I’ve wasted my life, but I’m only fifty-five. What do they expect? I’ve lived a hundred lives through my books.”

“But not your own?”

“Oh please,” he rolled his eyes.

“They do have a point, though. Mother had already run away from home and gone on an adventure by that age.”

“Oh sure, take their side. But look who I’m talking to. I can’t expect the Dragonborn to understand.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You literally averted the end of the world.”

“And?”

He threw his hands up.

“See? You proved my point. All this family cares about is great deeds and glory. I just want some peace and quiet with my plants and my books and no expectations of me. That’s it.”

“What do you want me to do about this?”

“Come up with a reason to send me away. Write to them and tell them there’s a plague or something.”

“A plague.”

“Yes. Then I can get back to my life and no one will be disappointed.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“I’ll be disappointed,” she said. “I was looking forward to spending more time with my only brother.”

A hint of sadness colored her eyes. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“I mean—I didn’t mean immediately. At the end of the month or something,” he said. He looked away. “I’ve missed you too, you know.”

She patted his hand.

“I know you have. And I know that leaving home is frightening. But you’re not alone. I had cousin Brelayna when I first came here, and you’ll have me. It’ll be grand.”

“I suppose,” he grumbled. “But must it be a whole year?”

“Well...” she scratched her chin. “I know. I know what you need.”

“What do I need?”

“A quest,” she said.

“What? No. No, no, no. That is the exact opposite of what I need.”

She sat up straighter, the decision settling over her features with a self-satisfied grin.

“Oh yes. A quest. I went on them all the time when I first came here. Nothing cleanses the soul quite like doing some good for the locals. It often fills the pockets, too."

"But—"

"I’ll make you a deal. Go on a quest with me, then you can go home a hero.”

“Martia,” he groaned.

“The Archmage has spoken. When I think of a good one, I’ll let you know. In the meanwhile, get some rest. I’ll show you to the students’ quarters.”


	2. A Chance Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relic meets a student who is not what she seems.

Relic lay stretched on his new bed, staring at the rafters. His alchemy journal sat on the bedside table, but he could not bring himself to add to it. The meeting haunted his thoughts. It couldn’t have gone worse if he planned it. It was bad enough being forced to stay in one horrible, frozen waste. How much worse would the next location be? A desert? A swamp? He’d never get the moss out of his hair. He let out a groan.

He could just leave without a reason. There's still plenty of coin in his purse. He could theoretically go home whenever he wanted. But the way Martia had looked at him—he knew he would be riddled with guilt the whole way. There was nothing for it.

Maybe he would be better off staying for a time. After all, a few months away from home couldn't be worse than admitting to his parents that he was weaker than they thought. They believed he was capable of greatness like them. It was ill-founded, but they did so anyway.

He rubbed his brow. He didn't want to make that choice. He wished Martia would make it easy for him and tell him to go home. But he might as well make a hundred wishes on a hundred different stars, for as much good as that would do.

He got up and started for the roof. He didn't plan to do any wishing, but he could at least find some peace by looking at the stars. It always worked at home.

A gust of wind blew the door open as soon as he turned the latch. He fought past it. It whipped his hair into a mass of tangles, but he would be damned before he let a breeze win. The door slammed behind him. Night had fallen, and fallen hard. Even the light of the twin moons hid behind the clouds. Peering through the dark, he found himself on a wide, empty platform with dark rays stretching out from its center like a compass. To one side lay the courtyard down below; to the other, a straight drop to the ocean. He gave that side a wide berth. Even with the Telvanni levitation spell his mother taught him, he doubted he would survive a fall that great.

He scowled up at the clouds. There would be no stars to look at with those around. He decided to wait until they came out. With all the wind, it was only a matter of time before the clouds moved on. He hoped.

He paced by the courtyard edge and rubbed his arms. The cold gnawed at his face and hands. He wished he had a rock to throw into the darkness. It would be a better distraction from his thoughts than the unrelenting chill.

Movement caught his eye. A woman walked on the path opposite him, on the other side of the courtyard. If they both kept going, they would meet in the middle. He couldn’t help but stare, yet he did not know why. There was nothing remarkable about her. She was rather short and wore the same faded blue robes as all the other students. The only oddity was her being out on the battlements so late in the evening, heedless of the cold.

He turned to duck back inside, then paused. What was she doing up there, anyway? It piqued his curiosity. He let go of the door latch and started back around the circle. He could not say what made him so brave. Maybe she was just as disappointed about the starless night as he was, and they could complain together. Maybe he just didn't care, since he planned to leave soon. Maybe he had already imagined a pretty face under that hood, and wanted to find out if he was right. Talking to a disgruntled student would be a better distraction than sitting indoors, at any rate. He almost laughed at the thought of talking to someone on purpose. The cold must be making him giddy.

She glanced his way, then down at the stone. Her pace quickened. She seemed intent on not acknowledging his presence.

They converged at the atrium formed by the tower of the front gate. Relic searched for the courage to speak, but his former bravery was nowhere to be found. He stopped; she passed him by. He watched her retreating form. He had missed his chance. Failed yet again. Or perhaps not; she was still within earshot.

"Uh—good evening," he called.

She froze. She turned back to him.

"Are you talking to me?" she said.

"I'm trying my best to."

"Oh."

A gust of wind ruffled their clothes.

"Cold out here," he said.

"It's always cold in Winterhold."

"That rhymes. Are you a poet?"

"No."

"Ah." He looked around, desperate for something to talk about. "I don't care for this wind, though. Would you like to step over here?"

He pointed a thumb at the atrium. She hesitated.

"Alright," she said.

"I don't mean to insist. If you have something else to do. I just—it's my first day here, and," he trailed off.

"No, it can wait," she said. "Since you're new here."

They retreated into the covert. Relic took a seat on one of the wood benches. The woman sat down a little distance away and tugged her hood close around her face. There was a rigidity to her posture, like she was standing on ceremony for some reason.

"So... you're a student, I take it?" he said.

"That's right." She smoothed down her robes. "Restoration, specifically."

"That's a very admirable field."

"Have you just started teaching, or did you transfer from somewhere else?"

Relic chanced a laugh. So that was why she was so accommodating.

"I'm not a teacher," he said. "I'm just the Archmage's brother."

"You're Relic?"

"Yes," he said, surprised that someone knew him by name.

"I'm good friends with the Archmage." She looked up a little, but kept her eyes hidden beneath her hood. "Well. She's been a good friend to me. I don't know if she considers me anything more than a burden. But anyway, she told me about you."

"I hope you don't esteem me too poorly because of it."

"No, no, she speaks very well of you. She was so excited that you were coming to visit. The way she talked, I feel like I'm meeting a nobleman."

“Oh, I don't know about that," he beamed.

"She said you're a very skilled alchemist.”

“That’s true, I suppose.”

She brightened. He caught the flash of a smile on her pale lips.

“Are you a master?"

"Master? By Azura, I wish. No, I just dabble now and then. Sometimes I spend more time gathering the ingredients than mixing them."

"Me too. I love every part of the process,” she said. "It's my favorite subject by far."

"I love how much it's like—"

"Like cooking?"

"Exactly," he smiled. "Do you cook?"

"I love it. At least, I used to."

"Before you had to move to this frozen wasteland?"

She faltered.

"Yes. That was it."

A silence came on the wind. The circular, stained glass windows on three sides kept out the movement of air, but could not keep away that inevitable quiet. Relic pursed his lips. He had been doing so well, too, talking with someone new. Part of him secretly wanted to impress her. He rubbed his arms and tried to think.

The woman dug in her satchel and pulled out a sprig of frost mirriam.

"Here," she said. "This will help stave off the cold."

"Perfect. Thanks."

She held it out with just her fingertips, as if she feared what would happen if their hands touched. He took it and nipped off the fan-like leaves, savoring the earthy, almost mint-like flavor. It tasted cold, but soon a gentle warmth spread through him. He shuddered at the feeling.

"You know," he said, "with all the magic at the college's disposal, you'd think they'd put a—I don't know—a bubble of heat or something around this place. Aren't you freezing?"

"We have enchanted robes, silly."

"I should have guessed. I'll have to borrow Martia's enchanting table."

"Your hands will still be cold, but you get used to it after a while."

"I doubt I'll ever get used to this place. I don't intend to, actually."

"Where do you come from?"

"Uhh, Hammerfell."

"Oh. Really?"

“No, Solstheim.”

“Well, my Lord Hammerfell,” she chuckled, "Word of advice: cover your ears when you go to bed. You wouldn't believe how cold your points can get during the night."

He regarded her.

"Are your ears pointed?" he asked. "Forgive me, but from what I can see of your face, you don't strike me as Merish."

He leaned closer to get a better look, but she retreated further under her hood.

"I'm a Breton. We can go inside, if you want to get out of the cold," she said.

"No, I'll be alright."

He cupped his hands together and summoned just enough magic to sustain a tiny flame. It didn’t even cross his mind to be nervous. The wind made the fire dance between his palms, but it never guttered out.

She gasped. He shot her a questioning look, but her eyes were still hidden. He wondered if he had done something wrong.

"What is it?" he said.

"Nothing, I just—I love watching a Dunmer work fire magic," she said, moving closer. "It seems so natural, somehow. Like it’s in your blood. Is that an odd thing to say?"

"A little."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No worries," he laughed.

Another silence grew, but her eyes never left the flame. She was quite close to him now. Her hand rested on the wooden seat, just inches away from the hem of his robes. Something about it brought a heat to his ears.

"If your hands are cold, you could have some. Would you—would you like that?" he said.

"Some what?"

"Some of this, uh," he struggled for words, "genuine Dunmer fire? I have plenty to share, what with it being in my blood and all."

"Oh," she hesitated. "Well, I suppose it would be rude to refuse after what I said."

"Very rude indeed. This is actually an ancient Hlaalu friendship tradition. Refusing is punishable by death."

"Is it really?" she said, a little fear in her voice.

"No. But we can be friends anyway.”

She laughed, and for the first time, her shoulders relaxed. The air of ceremony and propriety began to fall away. He held out the flame. Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach for it, but something held her back. His heart skipped a beat at the thought that she might touch him. He wanted it more than he cared to admit.

"Go on, take it," he said. "I'm not particularly good at this kind of thing, but I promise I won't run out."

She lifted her hands to his, and he surrounded them, holding her between himself and the flame. Her icy skin sent a tingle of cold up his arms. His breath hitched, trailing mist into the wind, and he wondered if she felt as strangely taken as he did. He chanced to look up at her, slowly, with a caution he did not understand. To his surprise, she was already looking at him. Everything went still. 

Then he saw her eyes.

They glowed with a soft amber light. Even the pupils glowed, the way a Khajiit’s does when one looks askance at a lantern. They were beautiful, but something else, too. Unnatural. Threatening.

The flame died. He drew back. An animal fear came over him, urging him to run. He got to his feet.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I have to go. I'm sorry."

She remained frozen in place, her head down, her hands still aloft. He did not wait for her to speak, but called on his magic in a burst and leapt over the edge of the battlement, down into the courtyard. The Telvanni spell rippled around him like slow water, easing his fall. He landed lightly and dashed toward the main hall without looking back.


	3. Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martia knows more than she's letting on.

Relic sprinted all the way back to Martia’s chambers, using the last dregs of his levitation spell to take the steps three at a time. He burst through the door. Martia sat beside a table littered with strange tubes and glass instruments. She startled at the intrusion.

“What in Oblivion—?” She said.

Relic slammed the door shut behind him.

“Vampire,” he wheezed. Even with the spell, there had been a lot of stairs.

“What?”

He put his hands on his knees and took a moment to catch his breath. He pointed at the door.

“Vampire,” he said.

She put down the bottle she had been inspecting.

“What about them?” She said.

“Your students are in danger. One of them is a vampire. I saw her—I saw her eyes, and she was cold, but I just thought that was the weather—we should call the Dawnguard—”

“Calm down. My students are safe, I assure you.”

“But she’s a vampire, I know she is. She hypnotized me.”

“I find that doubtful.”

"But I spoke to her. _Me_. I did that. I actually saw a person I didn't know and approached her. How could I have done that if I was't under a spell?"

"You found no trouble flirting with that young man from Mournhold."

"That wasn't flirting. I just wanted to learn about our ancestral land, that's all."

"And the Imperial girl?"

"Well—she was from Wayrest! How could I not sing 'Sweet Lady of Wayrest' for her? It made her smile."

"Rather charming smile, wasn't it?"

"Very charming, especially—" he caught himself. "Don't change the subject."

"Right, right. So you think Edith is a vampire."

"Exactly—wait. I never mentioned a name."

Martia opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut again. She hid her face in her hand and grumbled a curse.

"You knew about this?" He said, incredulous.

"Yes," she admitted.

"And the rest of the people here? Do they know?"

"The teachers do. Every so often a student will figure it out, but so far there haven't been any... incidents. Not since she first arrived a few years ago, anyway."

"Since she—what? How long has—? Does she—what does she eat? I—" he pulled at his hair in frustration.

Martia motioned for him to sit down. He fell into the chair opposite hers.

"I had better explain things," she said.

"Please."

"The thing about Edith... Actually, let me start from the beginning." She took a deep breath. "J'Zargo and I were taking a group of students on a routine visit to Saarthal. On the way, we found Edith unconscious in a snow drift. Seeing as how she had no pulse, we assumed the worst. We decided to take her back with us and give her a proper funeral. It was the least we could do. It was only after the sun had set that we realized our oversight."

"What gave it away?"

"Well, I think it was the when she rose up from the table where we had placed her for the preparations and bit J'Zargo."

"Is he a vampire too? Is everyone here a bloody vampire?"

"Calm down, no. We're very careful about that. She never feeds from any of us directly."

He threw up his hands.

"Thank Azura for that!" He said. "My sister has a pet vampire, but at least she's being _careful_." 

"Firstly, have some respect. That's a very nice girl you're talking about. And secondly, the relationship is nothing short of symbiotic. In exchange for protection and—well, let's call it 'nourishment'—she allows us to study her. We've already learned more than we ever could from collecting dust. In fact, we've developed a potion that significantly extends the interval between feedings. She could barely go three days without blood when she first came here. Now she can go nearly a full week without batting an eye. Even a little longer, in a pinch."

Relic rubbed his brow. He knew his sister could be brash. Daring. Foolhardy even, but never reckless. A Dunmer didn't reach two centuries of age without a good helping of caution. As unlikely as it seemed, she must know what she's doing. He sighed.

"Aren't there... I don't know. Cures for this sort of thing?" He said.

"Yes, but they are very few. Things would be easier if she had the more common strain, _porphyric hemophilia_. I believe mother still has some blood grass leftover from the Oblivion Crisis we could use, if that were the case. But Edith has _sanguinare vampiris_. The cure for that is... less simple."

"What does it require?"

"A rather complicated ritual and a black soul gem."

"Is that all?"

"A _filled_ black soul gem."

"Oh."

"So you see the problem."

"... Sort of. But if she's a vampire, wouldn't she be—erm—eager? To fill a black soul gem?"

"Relic, I am surprised at you."

"What?"

"With all that reading you do, I thought you would know more about vampirism. And the people who suffer from it."

She stood and began to pace by the garden, her hands folded behind her back. It was a stance he knew well.

"Oh no, not a lecture..." he groaned.

"Years and years ago, a Nedic woman walked alone."

"Do we have to—"

She silenced him with a sharp look.

"Shut it. You spend hours a day complaining, you can spend five minutes listening. Now." She cleared her throat and resumed her pacing. "The woman was set upon by a stranger, who defiled her and left her on the brink of death. But the stranger did not give her the mercy of a quick end, for this stranger was Molag Bal himself. No, the woman was forced to linger between life and death, forever burdened by the violence of that day, cursed to spread it to every corner of Tamriel."

"I always heard that they began when Molag Bal defeated an enemy Daedra."

"There are many stories, but all have the same core: that of being utterly overpowered. Vampires are the product of trauma. That thread of pain has never left their kind. Some choose that life, yes. But many were prey. Remember that before you judge too harshly."

"Is that what happened to Edith?" He asked. "Was she... preyed upon?"

"That part of the story is not mine to tell."

There came a knock on the door.

“Damn,” she muttered. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be here for this.”

“Be here for what?”

She opened the door. Edith stepped inside.

“I’m so sorry for being late, but I wasn't feeling well, and—" she caught sight of Relic. She froze. Martia led her by the shoulders to the table.

"I know you two have already met, but allow me to make introductions," Martia said. "Edith, meet my brother Relic; Relic, this is my student, Edith."

Edith refused to look at him. She turned to his sister instead.

"I can come back later," she said.

"I wouldn't dream of sending you away," Martia said. "Wait, why are you shaking?"

"I, um," Edith looked at her hands. "I was experimenting with some new additives, but something went wrong."

"What did you add?"

“I thought with some ectoplasm, I could strengthen my own magicka enough to,” she bit her lip, “to heal the ache, somehow.”

“But the regular recipe calls for jazbay grapes," Martia's voice grew tense with concern. "You didn't mix those, did you?"

Edith said nothing.

"Hang on," Relic said. "Ectoplasm and jazbay? Isn't that poison?”

"I thought that I might be immune," Edith murmured.

Martia shook her head.

"Go lie down. You can borrow my bed. I'll have you fixed up in a moment."

Edith obeyed without another word. She seemed to almost collapse onto it.

Martia went to the shelf next to her alchemy table, which was filled to the edges with tiny bottles of various shapes and colors. She selected one filled with a red liquid. If he didn't know better by the bright shade, Relic might have thought it was blood. She took it to Edith and ordered her to drink it down, then returned to the table.

"Now with that under control, you can observe my methods,” she said to Relic.

She hiked up her tunic's baggy sleeves and unwound the wool wrappings from her forearm. She then arranged some of the strange instruments, attaching one of the tubes to a dark glass bottle. To the other end she attached a needle of polished obsidian. To Relic's horror, she stuck the needle into her own arm.

The sight of the device piercing her skin made him shudder.

“Should I leave?” He said.

“No. I want you to see what great care I’ve been taking.”

"I think I've seen enough."

"Don’t go anywhere. I have another use for you."

He slumped back in his chair. After several minutes where he pretended not to see Martia's operation, not to see her blood dripping behind the dark glass, she removed the needle and healed herself with a quick spell.

"I hesitate to ask, but what is this other task you want me to do?" He said.

"I need you to keep this elevated for Edith while I go down to the kitchens," she said, handing him the bottle.

"What? Why are you going there?"

"I need something to drink. All I have up here is wine, and I've learned from experience that alcohol is the wrong choice." She leaned in and lowered her voice. "Consider this penance for behaving so rudely before."

"How was I supposed to react, exactly? I've never been so close to a—to one of those before."

"Your ignorance is only a good excuse once. Now come along."

She attached a fresh needle to the device before handing it to Relic, then led him to the more private part of the chamber, where the bed sat. Edith did not look at either of them as Martia began the transfusion. Relic was just happy that she didn't drink the blood straight from the bottle. Then Martia excused herself, leaving him alone with the vampire.

Relic tried not to fidget. Her presence put him on edge; though he knew it was silly, he feared what would happen if he made any sudden movements.

Edith remained silent. In the candle light, it became apparent how pale and gaunt she was. She looked nothing like what Relic had been told to watch out for; there was no radiant skin, no lurid gazes, no tempting, rose-red lips. Her lips were colorless. The veins on her brow showed through her thin skin. Though her expression was neutral, there was sorrow in her eyes.

Relic hadn't expected that.

"I'm sorry for earlier," he said.

"No, I'm sorry," she murmured.

He furrowed his brow.

"For what?"

"Um—I don't know. Frightening you, I suppose."

"And I'm sorry for running off like that. My nerves got the better of me."

She shrugged.

"At least you didn't attack me on sight," she said.

"Does that happen?"

"Only once so far. Luckily I'm good at casting wards."

"That is lucky."

Edith shifted on the bed and sat up a little higher on the pillow. Some color was beginning to seep into her features. She reached for the bottle.

"You don't owe me anything, you know," she murmured. "I can hold this up myself."

He gave her a curious look, but did not hand it over.

"What do you mean? Owe you?" He said.

"The Archmage forgets how good my hearing is."

His cheeks burned with embarrassment.

"You don't have to stay near me," she went on. "Since you don't care for it."

"Ah, well." He waved a hand. "I would go, but Martia would have my head if I did. What with her Thu'um, her bark is worse than any bite."

"Was that a vampire joke?" She said.

His blood ran cold. He hadn't considered how the comment must sound to her.

"Er—no, not intentionally," he said.

"It was funny."

"Was it?"

"I thought so."

She gave a cautious smile. Relic grew bold again.

"I can't help but notice that you aren't laughing," he said with a grin.

"That's because it wasn't the kind of funny that makes you laugh. It was the clever kind. Well, clever for a man who jumps off a roof at the first sign of danger."

"I'll have you know that it is a very common practice in Solstheim."

"Is it?"

"No."

She laughed in earnest, and Relic could not help but join in. 

Martia returned. She shut the door behind her with a huff.

"Should have planned ahead," she muttered. "Too many stairs."

"I'm sorry, Archmage," Edith said.

"For what?"

"For the stairs."

"That's hardly your fault. Don't apologize.”

"Oh. Sorry."

Martia took Relic's place by the bed and removed the needle from Edith's arm.

"There now," Martia said. "Be careful what you add to your potions and you should be fine until next week."

"I'll try not to be so foolish from now on."

"It wasn't foolish, it was just a little reckless. But I can't blame you. We magicians are explorers, aren't we?"

She turned to Relic for an agreement. It _was_ foolish, he thought. Any alchemist worth their void salt knew not to mix ectoplasm with jazbay. But he indulged his sister with a nod.

In spite of the color in her cheeks, Edith still carried that sorrowful look. It bothered him more than the obsidian needle.

"It was an interesting theory,” he offered. “Sadly, it sounds like you would need a Daedra's worth of magicka to make much of a difference.”

"Or better ingredients," Martia said off-hand. She straightened and furrowed her brow. "Wait. Wait a moment."

She tossed the transfusion device on the table and opened the cabinet next to her alchemy station. She murmured to herself as she rifled through its various bottled tinctures and envelopes of powders. When she found a small envelope that was yellowed with age, she held it aloft in triumph.

"Here it is," she exclaimed.

"What is it?" Relic said.

"I shall explain." She folded her hands behind her back and began to pace again. "The purpose of Edith's current formula is to fortify her own magicka so that she can more easily fight the effects of vampirism. But what if we went a step further? What if we resisted the magic entirely?"

"But Archmage, we tried that before and it didn't work," Edith said.

"Because we were using common ingredients. What we need is something rare. Something potent. Something like this."

She held up the envelope again and looked at them, waiting for someone to ask again what it is. When they remained silent, she continued on unprovoked.

"Crimson Nirnroot," she said.

"That howling weed that grows by the shore?" Relic said.

"Yes, just a different variety. I came across it years ago during my adventures. If I recall, it lends a very strong resistance to magic. Also it makes you sleepy. I quite forgot I had any. With the right additives, it might be just the thing to alleviate your burden, Edith."

She peeked inside the envelope, then swore.

"Never mind. This is empty."

"Thank you anyway," Edith said. He wasn't looking at her eyes, but Relic could hear that hint of sorrow in her voice.

"Hang on," he said. "If it's really as great as all that, can't we find more? An alchemist in one of the larger holds must have some."

"Even if they did, it would be such a long journey for one component."

“Don’t go to any trouble for me—” Edith tried to interject.

"Surely it would be worth it,” Relic went on, ignoring her.

"I doubt anyone has it,” Martia said. “It is exceedingly rare."

"Shouldn't we try?"

Martia turned on him, a fire in her eyes.

"Would you go with me?” She said. “Would you journey with your sister deep into historically Stormcloak territory, to Windhelm, risking life and limb to find this ingredient?"

"Uh. Yes?"

She clapped her hands.

"He has accepted the quest!” She said. “We leave tomorrow."

"Quest? Now wait just a moment, I never agreed to--"

“Excuse me.” Edith got up from the bed. Her voice had an edge Relic had not heard before. “Is anyone going to ask what I think of all this?”

They turned their attention on her. She seemed to shrink back.

"My apologies. Go on," Martia said.

Edith shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"Well," she began. "Sorry for the outburst, Archmage, but I don't feel comfortable with anyone going on a quest just for my sake. Especially since it might not work."

Martia steepled her fingers.

"Think of it this way. It wouldn't be just for your sake," she said. "We could make a real difference for others who want to control their symptoms. Who knows, we might find something that negates the need for blood entirely. That’s the lovely thing about quests: you often find something you didn’t even know you needed.”

Edith rubbed her arms.

“Well. If it’s for the greater good,” she said.

“That’s the spirit,” Martia said. “We leave in the morning.”

Relic didn’t bother arguing.


	4. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest begins!

When morning came, Relic met his sister by the well of magicka and the statue of a wizard. His knapsack pulled on his shoulders, heavy with the supplies she prepared for him. She greeted him with an energy he only felt midday; he grumbled a reply and rubbed his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired already,” she said. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said.

“That’s no attitude to have for your first quest.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Oh? It was the cold, wasn’t it.”

“No, it was the knowledge that there was a predator in our midst.”

Martia slapped him on the arm.

“I can’t believe you,” she scolded. “How can you still feel that way after talking with her last night?”

It was true, talking with Edith wasn’t the ordeal he expected. He had almost enjoyed it at times. But that made him distrust his feelings all the more; it proved that she held some form of supernatural sway over him.

“Because she’s still a vampire,” he said matter-of-factly. “A nice one, I’ll give her that, but that doesn’t change her instincts.“

“And what are her instincts?” She gave him a pointed look.

“You know,” he hesitated. “To kill.”

“If you said that to her face, I think it would make her cry.”

“Well!” He threw up his hands in frustration.

“Can you at least be kind to her when she arrives?”

“I’ve been kind to her. I don’t trust her, but I’m still personable.”

“How generous. Oh well. You’ll learn to like her on the way to Blackreach.”

“Doubtful—wait. You said we were going to Windhelm.”

“They won’t have any Crimson Nirnroot. In all my years here, I’ve never seen it in a shop.”

“You tricked me.”

“You never would have agreed if I had been honest.”

“That’s horrible. You are the worst sister ever.”

“I promise you’ll be fine. I would never knowingly put you in mortal peril.”

“The key word being ‘knowingly.’”

“I’ve been to Blackreach dozens of times, and I haven’t died once.”

“That is not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.”

Edith approached then, her shoulders slumped under the weight of her own bag. So much for vampiric strength, Relic thought; either being undead had fewer perks than he had been led to believe, or Edith was faking. Then he noticed how low she had pulled her hood over her eyes. She wasn’t slouching under the weight, he realized. She was hiding. The knowledge twisted his middle with guilt.

“There’s my favorite student,” Martia said with unaffected cheer. “Now that we’re all here, we can get going. Who’s ready?”

She looked to each of them, but neither spoke. Relic rolled his eyes and shrugged. She pretended not to notice, then led the way through the front gate and down the bridge.

When they had nearly reached the portico at the end, Martia stopped.

“Oh no,” she groaned.

“What is it?” Relic asked.

She pointed to a couple standing on the Winterhold side of the portico, dressed in dingy, gold-colored robes.

“The Vigilant of Stendarr,” she said.

“Again?” Edith said. “They were just here.”

“Hang on, who are they?” Relic said.

“A bunch of hypocrites,” his sister grumbled. “They’re radicals bent on weeding out Daedra worship and vampires and whatnot. They won’t leave the college alone. They assume that just because there are a lot of Dunmer here, there must be Daedra-worshippers as well. It’s terribly racist.”

“But we are Daedra-worshippers.”

“I know that! But it’s still rude, in my opinion. We’ll have to figure out a way around them.”

“Can’t you just send them away?”

“That would make us look very suspicious, wouldn’t it?”

Relic then realized how silly it was for him to protest the matter.

“Well, what a shame,” he said with mock disappointment. “I guess we’ll have to cancel the quest.”

He started back up the path. She grabbed him by the arm.

“I don’t think so. You’re not getting out of your first quest that easy.” She pulled a roll of canvas and a tiny bottle of light blue liquid out of her bag. “You two get a head start while I distract the Vigilants. Here’s the map. You remember the spell mother taught us, right?”

“Yes, of course. The one spell. The only spell she ever gave us.”

“Don’t be smart; you know what spell I mean.”

“What do you intend for me to do with it, exactly?”

She gestured to the portion of the walkway on the eastern side of the bridge, where the missing stone sides had been replaced with slapped-together wood planks.

“You can’t be serious,”he said.

“They won’t see you if you take that route. Edith is willing. Aren’t you, Edith?”

“Willing to do what?” Edith said.

“To let my brother practice his levitation with you.”

Edith’s eyes widened. She glanced over the edge.

“That seems… very risky,” she said.

“Would you rather spend the rest of the day in the Midden? It’s the only place the Vigilant won’t find you, if you recall.”

Edith’s lips became a thin line. Relic couldn’t see her eyes, but he would have bet money that her expression was one of displeasure.

“What’s the Midden?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t an obvious thing about the college that he had missed. Edith turned to him.

“It’s a horrible tunnel filled with skeletons,” she said.

“That’s safer than a couple of radicals?” he said, aghast.

“The difference between skeletons and Vigilants,” Martia chimed in, “is that the boney ones don’t try to kill her.”

“Oh.” Relic turned his attention back to the broken railing.

“You can manage a jump like that, can’t you?” Edith asked hesitantly.

“Uh—”

He glanced away. From the corner of his eye, Relic could see that the Vigilants had made it past the gate guard and were making their way up the stone path. Martia saw it and swore.

“We don’t have time to argue about this,” she said. “Those two will sniff out Edith if they get within a few feet of her.”

“Maybe we should postpone the quest,” Edith said, taking a step back. 

“We are not postponing the quest! Now if you two don’t jump off that ledge, I will personally lecture you both on the history of Jurgen Windcaller for three hours.”

“That’s not fair,” Relic said. “You know I’m not practiced enough to make it all the way.”

She pushed the tiny bottle into his hands.

“Here. Drink this down. It should give you the boost you need.”

“What?”

“It’ll be fine. But just in case, try to aim for that shelf down there.”

“This is ridiculous,” Edith protested.

“This is a quest!” Martia replied. “It’s supposed to be ridiculous. Now go on, shoo. I’ll buy you some time.”

She ran to meet the Vigilants, situating herself against the balustrade so that, by facing her, they were not quite facing Relic and Edith.

“So,” Relic said. “Shall we head back inside while she’s not looking?”

She crossed her arms, her lips still pulled tight in a grimace.

“I don’t want to spend another day underground,” she grumbled.

“Does that mean you want to do the jump?”

“Well…” she looked over the edge again and bit her lip. “It’s a foolish thing to do.”

Her voice did not sound eager, but neither did it sound unwilling. There was even a hint of interest, as if the only thing holding her back was the novelty of the situation. Relic tried to think of a third option. A mischievous idea presented itself.

“Well, we could compromise” he began, “what if we go ahead jump off this bridge, hopefully survive the fall, and then spend the day in the city hiding from my sister?”

Edith glanced his way as though surprised, but still kept her eyes hidden under her hood.

“Are you suggesting we commit truancy?” she said. A hint of excitement colored her tone. It was strange and awkward, as if she had lost practice looking forward to things.

“It would be what Martia deserves for dragging us along like this,” he said.

She put a hand to her chin and nodded thoughtfully.

“Deal,” she said with a grin.

They approached the eastern edge. The drop down to the shore stretched out beneath Relic as he leaned over the railing. His head grew dizzy. He pulled back.

“Right then,” he said. “How would you like to do this?”

“I suppose I’ll have to hold onto you.”

“Ah. Yes, I suppose so.”

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” she said.

Her eyes, amber and luminous, met his. No, he wasn’t sure. But it was too late to back out now. And when she looked at him like that, in that curious way he could not quite define, his words vanished. He nodded his assent. The idea of feeling her cold skin again sent a shiver through him, but he could not say if it was fear or excitement. He opened his arm, and she clasped her hands over his shoulder. Relic reminded himself to breathe. He took out the bottle his sister gave him, only to realize that he could not open it with his other hand around Edith’s waist. He opted to remove the cork with his teeth, then downed the contents and stuffed the glass in his pocket.

The sudden influx of magicka made him cough. She gave him a questioning look.

“Ugh—potent,” he muttered.

He turned his thoughts to the levitation spell, and it jumped up so readily that he almost stumbled back. The magic gushed around him like the tide roiling across rough stone. It lifted him from the bridge. Edith clung tighter. He extended the spell to her, and her weight lessened. They found purchase on the wooden rail. The open air yawned before them. Relic’s heart raced with terror. Everything in him told him it was a bad idea.

Yet—a small voice told him to jump. And it wasn’t Martia’s.

He stepped over the edge.

Immediately, they began to sink. Edith sucked in a breath and hid her eyes in the folds of his cloak. The magic billowed around them, keeping their fall at a slow, steady pace. From the edge, the distance was daunting, but now that Relic was in the open air, the worst was over. His heartbeat calmed.

He glanced back up at the bridge, which was now several yards away. Ahead of him, he could see the sun just above the horizon over the Sea of Ghosts. Its pale yellow light made the distant waters glitter.

He hadn’t expected that.

“Huh,” he muttered.

“Are we almost down?” Edith whispered.

He looked between his feet, then wished he hadn’t. The view turned his stomach. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Er, no, not quite,” he said.

Relic knew it was a bad idea, but something compelled him to glance down again. His stomach lurched again. Yet the ground was much closer than it was before. The shelf Martia had mentioned passed them by, and it made him a little proud that they hadn’t needed to land there. It looked like a treacherous climb down anyway. He looked down a third time, and, to his relief, actually enjoyed the view.

“You know, this isn’t so bad,” he said.

“Just tell me when it’s over.”

“What would happen if you fell from this height?”

She clutched him tighter.

“I’m not going to drop you,” he assured her.

“It probably wouldn’t kill me, but it would hurt,” she said. “Very, very badly.”

“If you want a distraction, you should look at the sunrise. The view from here is surprisingly good.”

“Are you tricking me?”

“Of course not.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She unburied her face from his shoulder and peeked over her arm. In the dim light, there was a faint glow to her skin, like the sun hitting the waves, but gentler, easier to look at. Before he realized what he was doing, Relic found himself staring.

The rugged cliff face began to go by faster. The spell’s presence grew weaker. Relic glanced down, but they were still dangerously high.

“I’m going to speed things up a bit,” he said, “so we’re not dangling for too long.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I can handle it. I just need to focus—”

The air began to rush past them so fast that it ruffled their clothes. Relic’s stomach leapt up into his throat. Edith stretched out a hand toward the cliffside. He willed the spell to remain for just a moment longer—just a moment—

They dipped into a freefall.

Relic opened his mouth to scream, but before he could make a sound, he was yanked to the side. He collided with the rocks. He fell again, but only for a moment; something caught his tunic and held him aloft.

He was still easily ten yards above the sand. He froze.

“Grab something,” Edith said.

“What?”

“I said grab something.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m up here. Now can you please grab something?”

When Relic followed her voice, he found that she was the very thing holding him up. She grasped an exposed root in one hand, and his collar in the other. He gaped.

“Quickly,” she said through gritted teeth.

He scrambled to find purchase on the cliffside. Edith let out a sigh of relief.

“How in the world did you do that?” he said.

“Does it matter?”

She began to clamber down to the beach. Relic followed suit.

“Was that…?” He wanted to say vampire magic, but decided against it.

“Telekinesis spell.”

“I thought those pulled on things.”

“If the thing you pull weighs more than you, you get pulled.”

“Oh. I never would have thought to try that.”

“Neither would I.” Her boots landed in the grey sand. “I guess it’s true what they say about necessity driving invention.”

He thought of asking what spell she used to bolster her strength, but the answer seemed obvious. She had been faking the burden of her knapsack, after all. Then it occurred to him that he had spent a frightening amount of time with a vampire in biting range of his neck. The thought made him shudder. And yet she hadn’t done anything; she hadn’t even tried. Instead, she had saved his life. Or at least his ankles. That thought gave him pause.

Edith dusted the grit from her robes. Her hood had fallen back to reveal her hair, too dark to be gold and too light to be brown. Relic remembered his own hair and grimaced to imagine the state it must be in. He combed his fingers through it. They immediately tangled and caught. He sighed and dug his comb out of his bag.

She pulled her hood back over her head.

“I guess we should get going,” she said. “There’s a path up the cliff this way.”

“Right.”

He wanted to say more, but couldn’t think of a thing to say. He followed her up the path for a time, working out the worst of the tangles as they went.

“Hey…” he began. Edith turned her yellow eyes on him, and the sudden, piercing gaze almost stopped him in his tracks. “Er—thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For saving us.”

She shrugged and turned away.

“Just a bit of cleverness,” she mumbled.

“Well, thank you for being clever, then.”

She shifted her knapsack higher on her shoulders and resumed her old slump.


	5. A Winter's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relic and Edith swap stories at the local tavern.

Relic peered around the corner of the portico.

“Do you see the Vigilant?” Edith said.

He scanned the crowd.

“No… they must still be in the college.”

“I hope the Archmage gives them an extra long tour.”

“Knowing her, she’ll be lecturing them on her encounter with the Psijic Order until nightfall.”

“That wouldn’t be a good punishment. That’s her most interesting story.”

“You like that one?”

“Yes…?”

“She literally averted the end of the world by defeating Alduin the World-eater, and you’d rather hear about a bunch of monks?”

She shrugged.

“I like the mystery.”

“Fair enough.” They emerged from the covert of the portico and started down the street. “Now where’s the best place to get a hot meal around here?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“The other students talk about the Jagged Dagger. Its a tavern on the west side of the main road.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ve been meaning to try some of that spiced mead Martia won’t stop raving about. Has she forced you to try it?”

“I assume she knows that it would not set well.”

Relic rubbed his brow.

“Ignore me, I’m an n’wah,” he said.

Edith was silent. It occurred to Relic that she probably didn’t understand the word.

“That’s slang for ‘fool,’ by the way,” he said. “In my case, I suppose it means ‘ass’ as well.”

“I know what it means.”

“You do?”

“Your sister is the only one at the college who talks to me. I figured out Dunmer speech pretty quick.”

“Oh.”

He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked. He wondered how many times he could slip up about her condition before she lost patience with him. She had taken it in stride before, but how long would that last? Would she get angry? Would she lash out? He couldn’t imagine someone as soft-spoken as she taking vengeance, but then again, she was what she was. There was no accounting for what a monster might do when provoked.

He could almost hear Martia reprimanding him.

“She doesn’t talk about Morrowind much,” Edith said. 

“Mmm. I suppose she’d rather not dwell on the tragedy.”

“That must be so difficult, losing your home like that,” she murmured. “Where you in Solstheim when it happened?”

He glanced eastward, toward Red Mountain, though the buildings obscured his view. Not that it would have been visible from Winterhold anyway. He shrugged.

“What’s difficult is that it never was my home,” he said. “It was already gone by the time I was born.”

“I assumed you were older than that. I’m sorry.”

“An honest mistake.”

“Have you really never been there?”

“I’ve visited a few times, of course, but much of it is still in ruins. The ash fall is terrible,” he said. “And even though we’re looking at the same land, I know I don’t see it the way my parents do. They miss it in a way I’ll never understand, and I miss the memories I’ll never have.” He tried to catch her eyes, but they were still hidden under her hood. “Does that make sense?”

She nodded.

“It’s melancholy, knowing you can never truly go back.” She stopped and gestured to a building on the right. “This is the place.”

The tavern was built on the cliffside, supported by large stilts and rough-hewn beams. Relic wondered how they kept it warm, being above ground and exposed as it was. His home in Solstheim was mostly underground. A drink stall offering hot mead to early morning shoppers sheltered in the shadow of the overhang. Relic and Edith made their way up the stairs to the tavern proper.

The place was empty, save for a woman who lay snoring on a bench by the long, central hearth. It was a narrow room with scant tables and chairs and a hallway beyond the bar that Relic assumed led to the rooms for rent. They approached the bar and each took a seat. Relic hoped they wouldn’t have to wait too long for the barkeep. He did not want to call for service for three reasons: he disliked drawing attention to himself, he was sure everyone in the building must have already been aware of his presence by the creak of the floorboards, and, lastly, he did not want to disturb the sleeping woman.

So they sat in silence. Edith folded her hands in her lap while Relic pretended to study the architecture.

A man emerged from the hallway, carrying an armful of woolen blankets. He hurriedly tossed the blankets in a basket behind the bar and approached them.

“Sorry for the wait. What can I get you?”

“Breakfast, if you’ve got it,” Relic said. “And some hot spiced wine.”

“And for you, miss?” He turned to Edith.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Some wine, then?”

“I never drink wine.”

He brought Relic’s order—a mug of steaming, aromatic wine and a heel of bread with a cup of broth. He sipped the wine, too preoccupied with Edith’s silence to enjoy it. He wished they could go back to the easy way of talking they had last night in the cold. Before he discovered what she was.

“So,” he said, “Martia tells me she met you near Saarthal.”

“Yes.”

More silence.

“Were you drawn to the history of the place, or the magic?”

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“I suppose it must have been the magic,” he mumbled, “since you’re a mage and all.”

“I don’t remember much about those days,” she said at last.

Relic gave up trying to make conversation. It seemed no matter what he did, he always touched too near the topic of her vampirism. What was he supposed to do? Ask her what her life was like before becoming a creature of the night? Inquire about what she did at the college when not feeding, however indirectly, on his own sister? Every idea found its way back to the one thing he did not want to discuss. He returned instead to the matter of his breakfast.

Edith drummed her fingers quietly on the bar, and it occurred to Relic how bored she must be in that place. He became painfully aware of how long it was taking him to finish his meal. He opted to finish the broth in a gulp and take the bread for later.

When he had drained the last of the broth, Edith spoke.

“I’m sorry I’m such terrible company,” she said.

The sudden comment surprised him. It took him a moment to arrange his thoughts.

“I’m not the perfect host either, stuffing my face while you’ve got nothing to do,” he said.

“I wasn’t always like this.” She shook her head and added in a grumble, “Not that it changes anything.”

“What, were you a High Rock socialite or something?”

He hoped his quip would lighten the mood. She did seem to sit up a little straighter, though she still did not meet his eyes.

“Yes, actually,” she said.

“Really?”

“My parents were courtiers for a time. That made me a socialite by default, whether I wanted to be or not.”

“You didn’t care for it, I assume.”

“Just the opposite, really. I loved it. I had this blue linen gown with a plum-colored surcoat,” she demonstrated the drape of the fabric with her hands. “It was all trimmed with gold, and it would ruffle about when I danced.”

“I never would have pegged you for a dancer,” he said, a little surprised.

“Well, there was no shortage of young men begging me to dance with them, so I learned quickly. Young women, too, for that matter.”

“Why Edith,” he chided, “were you a flirt?”

She waved a hand in mock offense.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was a perfectly well-behaved lady.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was! I mean, I did flirt a little, but I never acted on it.”

“Why not? If you had your pick, what was stopping you?”

She shrugged and shook her head, her posture melting back into its old reserve, her hands on her lap, her head lowered. It happened so quickly that Relic wondered at the sudden quiet. Had he been prying? His mind raced for something to say, anything to get them back to the easy, comfortable place they had briefly found.

“Tell me about your parents. What were they like—?“ He tried to stop himself, but it was too late. He spoke of them in the past tense; would Edith be offended that he assumed they were dead? Would she think that he blamed her for their demise, just because of what she was? _Did_ he think that she was to blame?

“They’ve always been too ambitious for their own good,” she said.

“Mmm. Mine too,” he said, relieved by her calm.

“They can’t be worse than mine. Mine made the wrong alliances in court, then made even worse ones to fix it, and before long our only options were to move out here or keep warding off assassins.”

Relic wondered if he should tell her about his parents’ storied pasts, but decided not to upstage her.

“That must have been quite a downgrade,” he said.

“Downgrade is an understatement. I had heard good things about Whiterun and even visited Solitude a time or two, but Morthal is barely a village, much less a hold capital.”

“Isn’t Morthal in a marsh?”

“It’s in its own circle of Oblivion,” she grumbled. She touched a hand to her cowl, running her fingers along the vague outline of a pendant that hung beneath. “Which makes it all the more ironic that I would give almost anything to see it again.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Why do you think?” she snapped.

Her eyes flashed to his, suddenly fierce in the tavern’s dim light. Her hood fell back with the sudden movement. Relic flinched. There came a creak of wood; the woman on the bench had awoken and sat bolt-upright, staring at them. Edith quickly pulled the hood back over her head. She took a deep breath and leaned her elbows on the bar. The formerly sleeping woman made a quiet exit. 

“I’m sorry,” Edith said. “If I told you again that I wasn’t always like this, would you believe me?”

He tried to calm his heart. It still raced from the shock. Then, with a sick feeling, it struck him why she was so curious about his condemned homeland—she had lost her home, too. He kept his voice as gentle and even as the lingering fear would allow.

“I have no reason not to,” he said.

She nodded.

“Thanks.”

They hefted their bags onto their shoulders and returned to the street. Relic kept an eye out for the Vigilant, scanning the few people drifting between the shops, but did not find them. A breeze picked up, sending a chill down his spine. He shivered and rubbed his arms.

“Looks like the coast is clear,” he said. “Where shall we go next?”

“Back to the college.”

“But—won’t you be discovered?”

She crossed her arms.

“I know you don’t want to go on any sort of quest, and I’m not too happy about it either. The only reason you’re out here in the cold and not snug in the Arcaneum is because I didn’t want to spend the day hiding. So I say we go back, I’ll go to the Midden where I belong, and you won’t have to waste any more time around me.”

Relic thought a moment, reaching for something that wouldn’t make things worse. The idea of spending so much time with a vampire was unnerving when he considered it; earlier that morning he would have taken the out without hesitation. But now he found that he was growing used to her presence. On top of it all, her expression when she mentioned the Midden was nothing short of miserable. He didn’t want her to go through that ordeal just for his sake.

“Well, if I didn’t have you around, who would keep me from falling to my death?” he said.

She sniffed a laugh.

“You would have only been maimed,” she said.

“Either way, I’m grateful. And I’m sure we can think of something to do; is there an alchemy shop in this backwater?”

“Yes, but I’ve never been to it.”

“Let’s go, then. It’ll be a treat for the both of us.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of being nice. No self-respecting Dunmer would ever do such a thing.”

She huffed a little laugh again, crossing her arms tighter across her chest. She bit her lip as if deep in thought.

“I don’t know…” she muttered.

“Come on, you wouldn’t let me miss out on the second most interesting place in town, would you?”

“What would the first be?”

“The college, of course. It wins by a landslide.”

“Trust me, you get used to it after a while.” She gave a little smile. “Alright. Let’s go.”

She began to lead him toward the shop. He was about to make a joke about their odds of finding crimson Nirnroot when there came a shout from behind them.

“There! There she is! I saw the Daedra her eyes!”

Relic turned to find the woman from the tavern—flanked by the two Vigilants of Stendarr.


	6. Caught Off Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vigilant pursue Relic and Edith.

The Vigilant approached. Edith froze in her tracks. Relic wondered why she didn’t run—did she know it would be useless? Or was she just paralyzed with fear?

It occurred to Relic that he could simply leave. If she had enthralled him somehow, he felt none of its effects in that moment. He could duck between the two nearest buildings and disappear before the vampire noticed he was gone, and just like that, he would be free of the quest he never wanted. Yes, he would be rid of the quest.

But he would also be rid of Edith.

Guilt overwhelmed him. Whether she had taken him in thrall or not, he couldn’t let the woman who had saved his life just an hour before come to any harm.

In less than a breath, he had a plan. His heart stuttered with the excitement of it all, with the knowledge that he was about to do something very foolish.

He dashed beside Edith and covered her eyes. He buried his face in her shoulder, raised a hand, and summoned every drop of magic in his body to cast a overpowered spell of magelight.

Even with his own eyes closed and hidden in the fabric of her hood, he could see the flash clearly through the cloth. There came a chorus of yelps. When the spell faded and Relic looked to the street, the Vigilant—as well as many passersby—were bent forward, groaning and rubbing their eyes.

Relic didn’t savor the victory. Though he felt drained from the spell, he grabbed Edith’s hand and pulled her into the escape route he had previously planned for himself. She made no resistance.

They darted down the alley, turning into every narrowing path they could find. Edith seemed to return to her senses then.

“Where are you taking me?” she said.

“I have no idea.”

“Don’t you know where you’re going?”

“I’m not from here!”

They turned again—into an alley that dead-ended at the cliffs.

“I’m not letting you levitate me again,” Edith said.

“At the moment, I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.”

“Maybe if we backtrack a little—“

She froze again. A second later, Relic understood why. Two pairs of armor-clad footsteps came within earshot. They rushed closer and closer.

Edith backed into a corner formed by an addition jutting from the nearest house. Relic joined her. The footsteps grew louder.

She stood stock-still, staring directly ahead, looking in her focus more Kahjiiti than Breton. It was a matter of seconds before they would be spotted. Relic’s mind went wild with ideas. None of them would work, he knew. They couldn’t creep around the back of the buildings; they were too close to the edge. Hanging over the edge itself was not an option, not without the levitation spell, not when his magic was nearly spent. The idea of leaving Edith to fend for herself returned. He refused to entertain it.

A shadow closed in on his sight. He wondered if he were about to faint, but he did not feel at all dizzy. It was as though the clouds had grown thicker, casting all of Winterhold in sudden darkness. No, he realized, not all of Winterhold—just the corner where he and Edith stood. Though he was so near to her that he could hear the wind ruffling her clothes, he struggled to acknowledge her presence. She was there and not there all at once.

The Vigilant’s footsteps grew louder. They would appear around the corner any moment. At a loss, Relic followed Edith’s lead and froze.

The two hunters appeared. The first one’s eyes were shrouded in a red haze, her expression set in concentration. A detect life spell, Relic assumed. Then he shuddered, realizing it was more likely a spell to detect the undead.

“I swear I saw it in this direction,” she murmured, glancing around.

“It must be inside the house. Come on,” the other said.

With that, they retreated. Soon Relic could not hear them at all. Edith fell to her knees, breathing hard.

“How did they not see us?” she gasped.

“You tell me. It was your spell that did it.”

“But I didn’t—“ confusion crossed her face, followed by doubt. “Then again, maybe I did. Did I?”

Relic pulled her back to her feet.

“We can solve that mystery later. I don’t know how long we have before they double check this spot,” he said.

He led the way back toward the main road, checking each intersection for the Vigilant before motioning for Edith to follow. He was not sure what his plan was in doing this, but it was better than nothing. It made him feel daring.

“Do you think we can make it back to the college?” Edith said under her breath.

“If we’re careful.”

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

His first instinct was to dismiss the apology, but the sense of daring sent his words in a different direction.

“If it helps, I could join you in the Midden for the day,” he offered.

For the first time since the tavern, her eyes met his.

“You would do that?”

“Only if you promise to tell off those skeletons for me,” he said with a smirk.

She gave a faint smile in return.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

Relic peeked northward, up the main road that led to the college. To his surprise, he saw Martia not too far away. She was speaking with—

He jerked back. Before he could explain to Edith, his sister’s voice cut through the cold morning air.

“Well of course they didn’t let you in. People in Winterhold value their privacy,” she said.

“It is imperative that we search the house,” said the Vigilant who had been casting the spell. “If that monster remains at large, everyone in Winterhold will be at risk.”

“I understand your concern,” Martia said, “but I can’t force someone to open their home to you.”

“I’m sure they will listen if you insist upon it.”

“What makes you think I have the authority to do that?”

“That thing is a student. It is under your jurisdiction.”

Martia faltered, but only for a moment.

“You are mistaken again. The vampire is only _dressed_ as a student,” she said.

“Irrelevant.”

“Quite the contrary. Nothing could be more logical and crucial. Vampires are master illusionists, you know, and how better to blend in here than by pretending to be a student?”

“Then the college is where it will try to hide once it escapes the house. We’ll have to conduct a thorough search of your campus. A very thorough search.”

“My dear Vigilant—Vigilants?—my dear Stendarrians, I was about to suggest the very same thing. We must make absolutely sure that Winterhold is safe. Why, if it were up to me,” she raised her voice, “I would send that vampire to the blackest reach of Oblivion. A black reach is just where vampires belong. Now, if you’ll follow me.”

The three started back for the college. Relic peered around the corner just far enough to be sure of it.

“Well,” he said under his breath, “I suppose hiding in the Midden is out of the question.”

Edith slid to the ground with her back against the building.

“What am I supposed to do?” She groaned. “I’ll be spotted if I go back to the college, I’ll be spotted if I linger in town…” She buried her face in her hands.

Relic settled on the ground beside her.

“Judging by my sister’s hints, I think it’s safe to say she wants to stay the course and meet us in Blackreach.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” Edith said quickly.

“What?”

“You’ve already been through enough trouble for my sake. If you’d rather stay here, I’ll tell the Archmage that I didn’t want you to come.”

The thought of her walking all the way to Blackreach by herself put a twist in Relic’s gut, though he knew she would be in no danger from the elements. She would be the most dangerous creature on the road, to be sure. Yet he couldn’t shake his repulsion to letting her go alone. Now there was no doubt in his mind that she had enthralled him. He supposed there was no use fighting it.

“I doubt you’re a good enough liar to fool her,” he said. “Sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh.” She opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. “Alright,” she managed.

They furtively made their way southeast out of Winterhold.


End file.
